The Gambler by Molly O'Keefe

Author:Molly O'Keefe [O’Keefe, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Molly Fader

TYLER

* * *

“Tyler,” Miguel said, his voice conveying a world of skepticism that frankly, I was not appreciating. We were carrying the lumber from my new truck to the soon-to-be-rebuilt-better-than-ever porch. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure Louisa was coming with the boxes of nails.

So cute, that kid.

“Where’s your enthusiasm?” I asked, sliding my two-by-twelves onto the grass.

Miguel just stared back at me blankly.

“Come on, it’ll work,” I said, pulling the plans I’d sketched up last night from my back pocket. I unfolded the piece of paper, tried to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles and, after stealing some masking tape stuck to one of the bundles of boards, taped them to the front of the red door. “Won’t it, Louisa?”

“Yep,” she said, putting the boxes of nails next to the boards.

“But have you ever built anything like this?” Miguel asked.

“No,” I said.

“You ever designed—”

“This is my first,” I said.

“This ain’t ever going to work,” Miguel said.

“Your lack of faith is truly insulting,” I said.

“My lack of faith?” Miguel scoffed. “Dude, you been sitting in a chair refusing to help me tear down a porch because you said you got no clue how to do it. Now, you draw up some crap on a—” Miguel flicked the paper on the door, glancing at the back of it “—flyer for a strip club? And you think I’m going to be able to build it? A porch? By myself?”

“First of all,” I said. “Sully’s is not a strip club. It’s a gentleman’s club and someday you will understand the difference.” I stepped over to the piles of lumber and grabbed the two tool belts. I pretended to hand one to Miguel, but at the last minute I handed it to Louisa, who howled with laughter.

I needed to keep this girl around all the time; she was great for my ego.

“And second, I don’t expect you to build it. I expect us to build it,” I said.

“Me, too?” Louisa asked.

“Of course. Who else will be using all the power tools?”

“She’s not touching any power tools!” Miguel cried, his voice climbing ten octaves.

“It’s a joke, kid.” I smiled at the boy’s steamed expression. “You’ve got to lighten up. Derek helped me with the plans and told me what kind of lumber and tools we needed. He measured and cut most of the wood.”

“Derek gonna come over here and help us build it?”

“No. Come on, man. You and I can do this.”

Miguel squinted at me, sizing me up. The boy’s face was getting better; he still looked like he’d been roughed up, but the burn was less vivid and the bruising was turning yellow.

“First you buy that crappy truck—”

“Don’t call Lila crappy,” I said. “She’s sensitive about her age.”

“Now you’re building porches?” Miguel shook his head. “I always knew you were strange, but this is a whole new level of weird. You’re changing and it ain’t pretty.”

Changing, I thought. I can only hope.

“Hey, Miguel?” Louisa said, her voice suddenly smaller than I had heard it all day.

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